


Time Lords, Tea Kettles, & an Unwieldy Metaphor

by thebaddestwolf, tkross



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love and Monsters, Romance, Tea, the satan pit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 10:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1546823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaddestwolf/pseuds/thebaddestwolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tkross/pseuds/tkross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After helping Elton and Ursula with the Absorbaloff, Rose thinks it's about time she and the Doctor talked, for real. The Doctor thinks it's time for breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lauraxtennant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauraxtennant/gifts).



> Happy birthday to the lovely Laura!  
> Collaborative fic: the Doctor's pov, written by tkross; Rose's pov, written by thebaddestwolf.  
> Love and Monsters Ursula fix it
> 
> Thanks to resile for the beta and the helpful suggestions!

The Doctor stretches languidly across the sofa in the library, hands propped behind his head as he gazes up at the ceiling, counting the stars projected there by the TARDIS. One… ten… fifteen million. 

Sitting up, he sighs and runs his hands through his hair, the barely restrained pent up energy in his limbs making him feel like a caged lion that has forgotten what it felt like to run. He smiles, liking the image of himself as a wild cat, darting through the savannah, the breeze ruffling his fur, the dirt grounding into his paws, as he searches for a gazelle or a zebra to… well, best not to think about that, really. No longer fancying the idea, his smile turns to a grimace and he begins to consider the possibility that he might actually be a bit bored.

But, nah, with a brilliant mind like his, boredom becomes an impossibility. Restless, maybe. Agitated, even. But bored? Not him. 

No, the reason for his current state of mind looms in front of him, never letting him forget: words spoken by fallen angels under black holes on a planet that should have been impossible. _Lies_ , a voice inside him protests and he wants to embrace it, wants to wrap his arms around it until the niggling doubts disappear.

The Doctor has always easily dismissed prophecies and superstitions and all of that human rubbish, but when it comes to Rose… well, sometimes he lets reason get away from him. That night, after goodbyes and reunions and hugs that left them clinging to one another, they kissed. He doesn’t remember who made the first move or how it happened, just the feel of her warm, wet lips on his and want, such aching _want_ that terrified him even as it thrilled him. 

Since then, he has rushed from place to place, never stopping or looking back, never giving into the urge to even think about kissing her again, never acknowledging her looks of longing and hurt and confusion.

But _never_ always has a funny way of turning into _now_ , eventually. 

The comfort that the soft sofa cushions provided moments ago turns suffocating and the walls of the room begin to look smaller and smaller, everything combining to close in on him at once. Taking a deep breath and exhaling roughly, he closes his eyes and leans back so that the crook of his neck rests on the hard edge of the sofa. When he opens his eyes, the projected stars on the ceiling have expanded and he silently thanks the TARDIS for the gesture. Running a hand through his hair absent-mindedly, he begins to ponder the events of the past few days. 

Spending three days at Jackie Tyler’s flat after the incident with the Absorbaloff and another two lingering in the vortex made it impossible for him to ignore his warring desires. 

He wants to wrap Rose in a blanket of protective cotton, lock her away in the TARDIS, safe from anything that might harm her, including himself; he wants to take her into his arms and whisper words that he couldn’t say into the nerve endings of her skin, hear her words of response in her muffled moans against his lips. 

But most of all, he wants to give her what Elton could give Ursula, what he made possible for them after one imploring look from Rose. It was almost too late for total reconstruction, but he managed to key into the absorption matrix and separate Ursula from the pavement with a bit of quick thinking and ingenuity. Now, they could have a proper life together; the kind of life that Rose deserved. The kind of life he could never give her. 

A sudden mental nudging from the TARDIS snaps him out of his thoughts and alerts him that Rose is awake. 

Standing up to walk to the kitchen and prepare the morning tea, the Doctor stretches his arms above his head and smiles at the thought of seeing Rose again after so many hours away from her. Why she deems it necessary to waste her life away in unconsciousness, he will never understand. But the thought of her sleep tousled hair and adorable morning grumpiness eclipses his previously sour mood and he begins to walk briskly down the hallway, whistling the tune of “I’m a little teapot” as he enters the kitchen. 

He opens a barely used cupboard full of tea kettles and grabs a particular favorite, a ceramic antique adorned with blue and pink flowers and the imposing face of a warrior facing a snake like dragon. After filling it with water, he places it on the stove and begins to prepare poached eggs and beans on toast.

Maybe, just maybe, a good breakfast and a bit of caffeine will be enough to set everything back to normal again.

***

Rose sighs contentedly as she stretches and settles back on the mattress, her eyes growing heavy again as her body seems to meld into the pillows and plush duvet. It’s one of those mornings where she’s gotten a full-night’s rest but could easily fall back asleep for a couple more hours, drifting in and out between peaceful daydreams.

She used to love sleepy mornings like this back on the estate, when she had nowhere to be and no one to see aside from Mickey, who would usually be playing footie with his mates well into the afternoon anyway.

But since she’d started living on the TARDIS, started living with the Doctor, Rose had taken to jumping out of bed and rushing through her formerly lazy shower, eager to see what the universe had in store for them that day. Today, though, she almost lets her eyes fall closed again, because if she has to spend another day trying to ignore what happened between her and that jam-loving, pin-striped, goofy-grinning, hair-gel enthusiast of a Time Lord she is going to -- 

Rose flops onto her stomach and presses her face into her pillow, letting the soft down muffle the volume of her groan. He was _such_ a git, giving her possibly, no, definitely the best snog of her life after one of the worst days of her life -- a day she thought she’d lost him for good -- only for him to pat her shoulder and run away. Literally and figuratively.

She thought he might have had a break through the other day, when he figured out how to return Ursula to corporeal form so she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of her life as a slab of slate. There was a softness in his eyes as he watched her and Elton embrace, a softness that stayed there as Rose squeezed his hand and he smiled down at her, squeezing her hand right back.

Of course, it wasn’t long later before the Doctor was making up some lame excuse to leave, Rose calling out apologies to their new friends as she hurried along behind him, unsuccessfully trying to ask him what was wrong as he spent the remainder of the evening tinkering beneath the console. 

Later on she realized the softness in the Doctor’s eyes was the same look he’d had that other night, when she ran up the grating and jumped into his arms, holding him tighter than she ever had. 

Rolling onto her side, Rose can’t stop her mind from wandering to a few hours after that, when she was swinging her legs from the console seat and he gave her another hug that lingered, one that ended with his fingers threaded through her hair and his cool breath on her lips. 

All it took was for her to lift her chin a fraction of an inch and there he was, mouth covering hers as he gasped quietly, a soft intake of air she wouldn’t have noticed had he been any other bloke. It was that small sound that spurred her on, that prompted her to part her legs and tug him closer by his belt loops, to finally slip her tongue into his mouth as she’d dreamed of countless times before. 

Rose shifts in bed as she licks her lips, hands toying with the hem of her vest top. Maybe she has time for a quick--

She groans again, her voice louder without the pillow to absorb the sound, and throws the duvet off her as she sits up, shoving her feet into fuzzy pink slippers and picking her bathrobe up from the floor. She’s sick of finding temporary relief, sick of treating the symptom and not the cause and, most of all, sick of waiting for him to suddenly progress beyond the emotional maturity of a 14-year-old boy. 

Slipping the bathrobe on and wrapping the thin fabric around herself, Rose sets off down the corridor to find him. 

The frustrated crease in her brow softens a bit when she discovers he’s in the kitchen, whistling quietly to himself as he pops several pieces of bread into the toaster before sliding over to the stove and peering into a steaming pot. She leans against the galley doorway and smiles in spite of herself as she watches him glide about, remembering the way he once scowled around the word “domestic.”

“Morning,” she mumbles after a while, scuffing across the floor and plopping down onto a chair at the round table. 

“Hiya.” The Doctor flashes her a brilliant grin before turning back to the stove. “Was wondering when you’d decide to come in. Sleep well?” 

“Mhmm.” The furrow in her brow deepens again, inexplicably annoyed that he’d known she was lingering. “Glad to be back in my own bed -- it’s more comfortable than the one at mum’s.”

“Why didn’t you sleep on the TARDIS then?”

“You know mum likes me to sleep in my old room when I’m home.”

“But the TARDIS was parked in the lounge, which is actually about two dozen feet closer to your mother’s bedroom than your bedroom.”

“That’s not the point,” Rose sighs, eyes boring holes into his stripey back. “Besides, why do you care where I sleep?”

The Doctor turns and fixes her with a quizzical look, two pot holder-covered hands suspended in front of him. Rose bites her lip to suppress a smile and a knee-jerk comment about him looking like a quilted lobster.

“You just implied you didn’t sleep well in your old bed so I was only wondering why you slept there at all when the TARDIS was nearby.” His eyes roam her face for a moment before he goes back to his work at the stove. “Besides, I need my companions well rested. You know, for all the running.”

“Yeah, like when we ran away from Elton and Ursula.”

“We didn’t run away from Elton and Ursula,” he huffs.

“No, you’re right, _we_ didn’t but _you_ did. Ursula had just put the kettle on for us but you were already backing away, spouting off some nonsense about tangled timelines and a hurricane in the vortex. I can tell when you’re lying, you know.”

The Doctor’s shoulders tense at her words but he continues to ready breakfast, carefully removing four eggs from the pot with a pair of tongs. 

“Just didn’t know why we should stick around longer, is all,” he says. “They were only being polite, Rose. Their life together was just beginning, figured they didn’t really want us in the way.”

“Oh right, and you’re usually _so_ considerate about that sort of thing.”

The Doctor spins around to gape at her as a high-pitched whistle sounds from somewhere behind him.

“What’s that?” Rose asks, frowning at the unpleasant noise.

“Ah, water’s boiling,” the Doctor says, lifting a ceramic teapot from the stove. “Decided to use this kettle I’d forgotten about -- nicked it from an emperor during the Ming dynasty. Nearly lost my hand for it, in fact! Not my fightin’ hand, the other one.”

“But we always use the electric kettle,” Rose says, voice flat.

“Fancied something different this morning, I guess.”

“Why would you ever use a stovetop kettle anyway?” Rose crosses her arms and pouts, glaring at a spot on the floor. “Those things take ages to heat up and last time I checked we lived on a spaceship with _electricity_ so by using an old-fashioned kettle it’s like you’re completely ignoring about 150 years of technological progress. And things have to move forward, Doctor, you of all people should know that. Tea kettles can’t just stay in perpetual stasis -- once an advancement is made, such as the electric kettle, you can’t just revert to an old-fashioned kettle like you’re living in the stone ages. You can’t just get scared and run off and pretend like electricity was never invented in the first place, like if you ignore it long enough it will go away, even though in the back of your mind you know your life with be much improved with circuits and light bulbs and electric sodding kettles!”

Rose takes a few deep breaths and feels her cheeks heat up as she registers her outburst. When she finally raises her eyes the Doctor is staring at her, brows arched high on his forehead, holding the blue and white teapot in front of him.

“Rose?”

“What.”

“Are we still talking about kettles?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Rose talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes the story - thanks to everyone for reading, liking, and/or commenting.

 

 

**Chapter Two**

The Doctor has come to expect a certain degree of grumpiness from Rose in the mornings, has come to regard this side of her with fondness, in fact. On some days, he doesn’t hear a word from her aside from a barely audible mumbled ‘good morning’ until after she’s had her morning tea.

Today, he thinks he might prefer the silence.

Searching her face for a hint of what might really be bothering her as he waits for her to respond, he sees panic flash through her eyes before she looks away and focuses on picking a piece of lint off of her bathrobe. He puts the tea kettle and the pot holders on the stove and then takes an instinctive step forward to comfort her, but seeing her arms folded over her chest and her refusal to meet his eyes, he thinks better of it and stays in place.

Shifting from foot to foot in the silence that has somehow made the space between them feel like miles, he runs a hand through his hair and pauses to scratch at the nape of his neck.

Maybe he doesn’t prefer the silence, after all.

The Doctor is relatively certain that Rose does not have such strong opinions about kettles even if he might not always be in tune with the subtle layers of human emotion. Well, not totally in tune anyway; he likes to think he knows a thing or two about how to read people, especially the woman that currently sits in front of him. But at the moment, he feels befuddled and confused, muddled and perplexed, jumbled and bewildered, and other words that are far more fun to say than they are to feel.

Of course if he wants to be totally honest with himself, he has some idea of what she might be trying to get at and suddenly the immediate threat of her answer terrifies him. Maybe if he turns back around to finish preparing breakfast, she will forget all about it and they can go on about their day as if outbursts about kettles never happened at all.

“No, Doctor, I’m not,” Rose says, finally meeting his eyes again with a fierce look of determination. “I’m not talking about kettles anymore. I want –” she pauses, taking a deep breath and biting her bottom lip, “I want to talk about what happened between us. That night when we, uh, when we kissed.”

“Oh?” he squeaks out in reply, regretting that it might be too late now to use cooking as an avoidance tactic.

“Yes, I do. I think it’s time that we did, don’t you?”

“Erm.”

The Doctor averts his eyes and tries to think of a way to respond, not exactly doing a bang up job of it so far, despite his usual talent for words. Perhaps she will take pity on him and change the subject, but judging by her arched eyebrow and pointed look, that seems unlikely. Reaching behind him, he turns off the stove, resigned to the fact that breakfast will have to wait.

“Do you --” she peers down at a spot on the floor, looking suddenly vulnerable and small in her uncertainty.

Seeing Rose this way, so uncharacteristically mercurial and closed off, he wants to go to her and wrap her in his arms, anything to reassure her that she has no reason to feel unsure and that he’s there and he’s hers and -- hold on, hers? Where’d that thought come from, then?

Staring at the spot on the floor must have given her what she needed, though, because when she looks at him again, that same look of determination has replaced the vulnerability and he almost takes a step backwards in response. He swallows and readies himself for what she is about to say.

“Do you regret it? Because, I don’t, Doctor. I don’t regret it at all. In fact it was the best snog of my life and I’d like to do it again as much as possible. But if you do, regret it, I mean, I’ll never bring it up again, promise. We can just acknowledge that it happened and go on about our lives as best mates, yeah?” She gestures back and forth between them, shaking her head. “But what I can’t do, is this thing we’ve been doing where we pretend it never happened at all. I need you to at least acknowledge it. I’m so tired of pretending. I can’t do it anymore.”

There are about a hundred different things he could say in response and he knows right now would be a great time to tell her that he does in fact regret it, that he wants to keep her at a safe distance where neither of them can ever get hurt, where it won’t feel like he’s been broken into a million pieces when he finally loses her. Or he could tell her that he wants to do it again too, more than he has ever wanted anything, that he’s wanted to kiss her almost every moment since he met her, but that he has barely allowed himself to think it, let alone act on it.

“Best snog of your life?” he says instead.

Rose snorts out a laugh and for a moment he congratulates himself on saying the right thing, but it’s not the good kind of laugh he’s used to hearing at all and it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Seriously, that’s the one thing you choose to focus on right now?” She shakes her head at him and runs a hand through fistfuls of her tangled hair. “And, actually, I don’t think I said that. Did I? I meant _one_ of the best snogs of my life. Could have ended better that’s for sure…”

Averting her eyes, she starts biting her thumb, tongue tracing the outline of her nail. Unbidden, the Doctor’s eyes are drawn to the gesture and the memory of what it felt like to suck on her protruding lip overwhelms him.

Without realizing it, he begins to walk towards the table and sits down in the chair next to her, flexing his fingers with the urge to hold her hand.  
“Oi, no taksies backsies, Rose Tyler! You definitely said it. I didn’t mishear you and I never, ever forget.”

An involuntary half smile forms around the thumb in her mouth, but then she schools her features and crosses her arms over her chest, looking decidedly _not_ amused. “Fine, whatever. You don’t need to rub it in or look so smug. And you still didn’t answer my question.”

The Doctor nods, opens and closes his mouth to respond, lips forming around words that won’t come out. He’s pretty sure it must be obvious by now that he’s stalling.

“Right. Of course. But I need you to clear one thing up first: in this metaphor of yours, am I the old-fashioned kettle? Because if I’m going to be compared to a beverage making item, I fancy myself as more of an espresso machine, if anything. Brilliant things, espresso machines; I quite like the swishing sound that wand makes in the milk. Whoooosh!! Rather like the sound of the TARDIS, wouldn’t you say?”

Rose gapes at him, a scowl forming creases on her forehead. “Out of all the frustrating men in the universe, you have got to be the single most infuriating! Fine -- yes, you bloody well are the old-fashioned kettle. You can’t even answer a simple question! Clearly, you do regret it. Just forget I brought it up at all.”

“Nonononono, Rose, that’s not, that’s not -- that is to say that no, I mean yes. Yes, I did regret it.” Seeing her look of resigned acceptance, he rushes to continue. “I _did_ regret it; I got caught up in the moment, as you say and then I panicked, have continued to panic every time I think about it, in fact. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it, that I haven’t wanted to do it again every time I --” He pauses, running a hand through his hair, wanting to get his words just right.

Leaning forward, he hesitates for a moment before extending his fingers towards her hands, still folded across her chest. She makes no move to uncross them, but when he brushes his thumb over her fingertips, she shivers and tilts her head towards him. Encouraged, he tugs on the hand closest to him and clasps it in his own as he meets her eyes again.

“I’ve been a coward and you deserve more than that. You deserve someone that can give you everything, the kind of life that Elton and Ursula are going to have together… and I can’t promise that I will ever be able to give you that. But I’d quite like to try the kissing part again, if that’s all right with you. Unless you’ve gone off me in the last few minutes...”

Judging by her racing pulse and elevated body temperature, he feels ninety-nine percent certain she will respond favorably. Perhaps she’ll even kiss him in the next few seconds, and if that leads to some sort of straddling, well, even better.

Instead, she laughs at him, a full on guffaw kind of laugh that travels all the way down to her stomach, sending a vibration through her entire body and into his.

He frowns, pursing his lips to ask what she finds so hilarious about him basically pouring his hearts out to her, but she holds up her free hand to stop him, taking deep breaths to calm herself down.

“You are _so_ daft! Just so incredibly daft.” His frown deepens and he starts to jerk his hand away and she tightens her grip in response “Oh don’t be like that! I’ve not gone off you, don’t worry. Was just frustrated is all. But Doctor, how can you not know by now that I’m exactly where I want to be? I don’t want that sort of life, not if it means you aren’t living it with me.”

“You say that now…”

“Yeah, I do but I don’t see how I’d ever change my mind. That’s not the point though, is it? Now is what matters, Doctor.” She bites her bottom lip, tilting her head and squinting slightly. “Only not now-now. I’ve got something I need to do first. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be back in a mo.”

At this point, he has no idea what to expect -- leave it to Rose Tyler to throw off his highly accurate predictions. Swallowing, he nods and watches as she gets up to leave.

“By the way, you’ve got an adorable pout,” she tells him as she walks into the hallway before he can reply.

He smiles, secretly pleased, though if asked he would deny Time Lords pout at all.

***

Rose presses her lips together to hold back the elated giggle threatening to burst forth as she jogs down the hallway as best she can in her fuzzy slippers.

For a moment there she thought she’d blown everything with her little outburst over kitchen appliances, and in an instant of blind panic she worried the Doctor might pilot the TARDIS back to the estate to bring her home for good. So the fact that he not only stayed put, but actually went so far as to admit his feelings for her, it was just…

Well, it was just too much.

Covering her mouth with her hands, Rose lets the giggle loose as she remembers the way he pouted at her, his bottom lip jutting out all sumptuously just because she wouldn’t snog him right there and then.

Rose skids to a stop as she nearly jogs past the door she’s looking for, mentally thanking the TARDIS for moving her bedroom closer in this time of need. She feels bad skipping out on the Doctor -- well not that bad, since it resulted in the delicious aforementioned pout -- but after the less than satisfactory ending to their last kiss, she wants to make sure their next one got off to a good start.

And for that to happen, she figures she probably better brush her teeth.

When she’s done Rose smiles at herself in the bathroom mirror, clean teeth sparkling, and briefly considers the merits of washing her face and brushing her hair and maybe dabbing a bit of concealer on a spot that must have sprouted overnight on her chin. But then she thinks of the Doctor, probably pacing the kitchen with that dumb lower lip still jutting out -- the Doctor who wanted to kiss her even though she’d just likened him to a ceramic teapot -- and she turns on her heel to leave.

The scuff, scuff, scuff of her slippers echos through the hallway as she jogs back to him, panting slightly as she rounds the corner into the galley. He’s not pacing as she expected but is still sitting in the chair, back straight and left knee bouncing as he runs a hand through his increasingly disheveled hair.

“Ah, you’re back,” he says, smiling shyly.

“I’m back.”

Rose grins and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling shy too. She walks toward him, planning to sit back in her chair at the table, but hesitates as she gets closer, realizing sitting next to him wouldn’t put her in prime snogging position. Had he been pacing as she’d anticipated, she could have simply backed him against the wall or even sat on the counter, tugging him closer by his belt loops and making space for his hips between her legs.

Unsure of the best move under current circumstances, she stands in front of him twisting her ankle and biting her lip while the Doctor watches her with a bemused smile.

“So, where’d you run off to?”

“Oh, just to my room.”

“I see. And what’d you get up to in your room?”

He reaches out and grabs the tie of her bathrobe between his thumb and index finger, seeming to examine it for a moment before beginning to reel her in.

“Well, you know, this and that,” she giggles, allowing him to pull her closer until her knees bump against his.

The Doctor's fingers inch up the fabric drawstring until his hands are around her waist, squeezing her hips and tugging her toward him. Rose scrunches her nose up at the smug look on his face, complete with quirked eyebrow, even as she follows his movements and settles down on his lap.

She loops her hands around his neck, fingers smoothing over his short hairs there, and distantly notes how this very new development doesn’t feel new at all.

“And how are things with this and that?” His voice is lower now, his nose nuzzling her cheek, and it takes Rose a moment to realize what he’s talking about.

Of course beneath it all they’re talking about nothing, just spouting off empty words to fill the quickly closing space between their lips. She feels his cool breath on her skin and his fingers smoothing down her spine and, oh god, there are words forcing their way up her throat and she doesn’t quite get her lips to his before they tumble out.

“Pat me on the shoulder after this and I’ll kill you.”

She can feel the Doctor’s lips form a smile against her own as she kisses him, mouth firm and smooth against hers. His hand tangles in her hair and he changes the angle of his head, lips gently gliding over hers again and again.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he breathes, words muffled by her bottom lip caught between his teeth.

His gravely voice spurs Rose on, prompting her to tug on his hair and lean into him, twisting her body so her chest is pressed flush against his. When the Doctor runs his tongue along the seam of her lips she can’t help a quiet whimper escaping from the back of her throat, mouth parting and tongue meeting his halfway.

There’s a low rumbling in the Doctor’s chest that Rose will later swear was a growl as his arms tighten around her and he kisses her fiercely, one hand trailing down her waist, over her hip, and along her thigh.

His touch makes the heat that was pleasantly swirling in her stomach spike and Rose gasps, leaning her forehead against his as she tries to catch her breath. The Doctor seems a bit breathless too, for him anyway, and he lets her take her time, occasionally brushing his lips across her cheek while his thumb strokes orbits on the inside of her knee.

“Doctor,” she says, swallowing thickly. “Do you want to go into m-”

That’s when Rose’s stomach growls. Loudly.

The Doctor’s shoulders begin to shake until he can no longer hold his laughter in, burying his face in her neck as he giggles.

“Shut up, I can’t help it,” Rose laughs, swatting at his back.

“Sorry, Rose, but it is a bit ironic -- your little tea kettle rampage is the reason breakfast was delayed, after all.”

“My little tea kettle rampage is also the reason I’m currently sitting on your lap.”

“Ah, good point,” he smiles, kissing her nose. “Now, where were you going to suggest we go?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she says, extracting herself from his embrace and standing. “Think I’d like brekky now. It’d be a shame to waste it -- I bet the eggs are still warm and all.”

“What?” He’s pouting again and Rose licks her lips at the sight.

“Yep,” she grins, sitting down in her chair. “Just pop the bread back in the toaster for a minute to heat it up again and make some more water for tea.”

The Doctor attempts a glare but she can tell his eyes are still smiling.

“Alright, one proper breakfast for Rose Tyler coming right up!” He stands and makes his way back to the stove and turns the burners back on. “You know, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted I was going to ask if you’d like me to whip up some French toast as well -- we haven’t had that since the morning after we were knighted.”

“Ooh yes, that sounds gorgeous!” Rose says, looking forward to breakfast almost as much as what she’s planning to do with him afterwards. “French toast and some nice, strong, milky tea will be lovely. But Doctor--”

“Yes?”

“Use the proper kettle.”

The Doctor winks and does a half-spin as he grabs the electric kettle and fills it with fresh water before placing it back in its base and flipping the switch.

“I’ll never even _look_ at a kettle that doesn’t have wires coming out of it again,” he grins, tracing an X over each of his hearts with his finger. “I’m a one kettle man, now.”

“Oh yeah?” Rose beams at him and catches her tongue between her teeth. “For how long?”

“Forever.”

Rose searches his face for a hint of irony but doesn’t find any, even though she knows he’s lying through his teeth. There is no forever for them, at least not the sort of forever couples like Elton and Ursula will have. Still, she can tell he means it, even if it’s not true.

And so she smiles wide and lies right back.

“Forever.”


End file.
